"Sorry, Natsu, I can't leave him."
Hashimoto Arina's expression hardened with resolve as she clung to the arm of the handsome man beside her. Without another glance, she turned and walked away with him.
"Sister Arina!" Shirakawa Natsu stretched out a hand desperately toward her retreating figure, but something heavy pinned him down.
Yazuki knelt on his chest, her head shaking firmly as she opened her mouth.
Natsu froze in shock. "Why… why don't I feel any pain?"
Raising her face, Yazuki parted her lips wide, revealing a mouth full of razor-sharp fangs. "I've already bitten it off. That's why it doesn't hurt anymore."
"Ah!!"
Shirakawa Natsu bolted upright from the bed with a scream, his chest heaving. His eyes darted around frantically until he recognized the familiar white sheets and sterile walls of the hospital ward. Only then did relief wash over him.
"God, that was terrifying… Just a dream…"
After his phone call with Mizuki yesterday, he had tossed and turned restlessly until he drifted into a shallow, uneasy sleep late at night.
But the questions gnawed at him even now.
Hashimoto Arina clearly harbored feelings for Kimura Hama. So what exactly was their relationship? Why had Kimura suddenly reappeared after vanishing for three whole months—and without any memories? No normal human could survive injured and alone in the wilderness for that long. Not even Master Pei could have managed such a thing.
What kind of man was Kimura Hama?
Those unanswered questions tangled in Shirakawa Natsu's mind like vines. If he wanted to fulfill his task, he had to cut through that fog.
"I have to stay rational," Natsu muttered.
He washed up quickly, returned to the bed, and set out his brush and sketchbook. Normally, once he started drawing, he could slip easily into flow, but today his hand kept hesitating. His mind refused to let go of Kimura Hama—his face, his character, his tie to Arina.
"What kind of person is he really… what does he look like to her?"
Agitated, Natsu snatched up the half-finished drawing and nearly hurled it across the room. At the last second, he stopped, staring at the half-drawn figure still etched into the paper. His shoulders slumped, and with a sigh, he let it fall back onto the desk before flopping onto the bed in defeat.
When Arina passed by later during her morning ward checks, she said nothing about the events of the previous night. She only smiled, radiant as the sun, clasped his hand, and pressed it lightly against her thigh. The faint warmth of her flesh through the sheer fabric of her stockings somehow soothed the restlessness in his chest.
Time blurred until the stifling heat of mid-afternoon settled over the ward.
Yazuki appeared, hands shoved casually into her pockets. She dragged out the nurse's chair and sat at his bedside with practiced ease.
"So fast? Already?" Natsu blinked, surprised. "I thought it'd take you at least two or three days."
"A popular guy like him? Easy to dig up information." Yazuki smirked and pulled out her phone.
"I'll send you the photos. Take a look yourself."
When Natsu tapped open the file, a series of images filled the screen. He clicked the first one.
The man's long hair fell over half his face, a style that should have lent him a shadowy, brooding air—but on Kimura Hama, it didn't. Behind his silver, rimless glasses, his smile was gentle, his eyes bending like crescents as he laughed.
Refined. Serene. Scholarly.
The kind of man described as a gentleman like jade—warm to the touch, flawless to the eye.
"Ha…" Natsu exhaled a long, heavy breath after staring for a while.
Though he hated to admit it, just looking at those photos filled him with a gnawing sense of inadequacy.
It was impossible not to feel daunted by such an opponent.
"Kimura Hama graduated from Tokyo Medical College along with Hashimoto Arina," Yazuki explained coolly. "He disappeared for three months during a graduation trip. After he returned, he exhibited symptoms of amnesia. During that time, he was taken in by a woman who nursed him back to health. Thanks to her care, he eventually regained his memory after about a year—and went on to become a professor in the Department of Literature at Tokyo University."
She scrolled as she continued: "He's gentle, courteous, the very image of a gentleman. At Tokyo University, he's consistently ranked first in teacher satisfaction surveys. No scandals, no blemishes on his record. To the students, he's the perfect professor."
Natsu scowled. "I know this type of story. Usually, guys who look that perfect are hiding something twisted behind the mask. Sooner or later, they're exposed for some horrible scandal that shatters everyone's faith in them."
Yazuki didn't reply, simply fixing him with a calm, steady gaze.
Under that look, Natsu flushed, rubbing the back of his neck. "Okay, okay. Fine. I admit it—I'm just jealous. Jealous enough that I can't even see straight."
How could anyone look at a rival like Kimura Hama and not feel utterly defeated?
He scrolled through more images. Every angle of Kimura looked immaculate—smiling as he lectured from the podium, working alone in his office, laughing with students. Not a single flaw. Even through the cold glass of a phone screen, the man's warmth seemed to radiate outward.
But then—an old photo. The pixels were grainy, the colors faded. A clean-cut young man with short hair, beaming awkwardly at the camera with a sunny grin and a slightly goofy charm.
"Who's this? Did you mix in some stranger's picture?" Natsu frowned.
"That's Kimura Hama back in college," Yazuki said flatly.
Natsu froze, then swiped back to the refined, bespectacled man from the present. "Wait. Did he… get plastic surgery?"
The two faces gave off completely different impressions. Yet after careful comparison, the facial contours aligned—90% identical, save for subtle differences.
No, it fit the timeline. Six years had passed since that old photo. Instead of surgery, what changed most was his style—the long hair veiling half his face, the glasses, and above all, the utterly transformed aura.
"Once a guy learns how to polish his look, he can change a lot," Yazuki said.
Natsu scratched his head. "Really? …So, what if you helped me dress up? How would I compare to him then?"
The corner of Yazuki's lips curled into a wolfish smirk.
Natsu instantly regretted the question. Yesterday, he'd thought her tiger teeth looked unusually sharp. Today, they seemed even more pronounced—not just because of the video.
He remembered: those canine teeth had once been tools for tearing prey, before human evolution dulled them. Yet Yazuki's hadn't dulled at all.
"What are you staring at?" she asked, brows furrowing.
"H-has anyone ever told you… your teeth are really sharp?" Natsu asked nervously. He wasn't a dentist, but her fangs weren't exactly subtle either.
She frowned slightly and pulled out her phone, checking her reflection with mild surprise, as if she'd never thought about it before.
When she parted her lips, Natsu caught a glimpse of her tongue glistening with faint crystalline saliva.
His thoughts flashed back to that night under the quilt—how she'd leaned close, her mouth leaving saliva on him. Now, seeing it again, a strange astringent feeling stirred in his chest.
His gaze dropped from her wet mouth to those sharp teeth. And suddenly, his dream from this morning slammed back into his mind.
A shiver ran down his spine. He jerked his head away, unable to keep looking.
Yazuki snapped her mouth shut, watching him. "Koizumi will deal with Kimura Hama."
"Koizumi? Who's that?" Natsu frowned, trying to recall the name.
"The director's daughter. Distant cousin of Arina Hashimoto. She's not exactly thrilled about Kimura being with Arina either."
As she stood, Natsu shook his head. "No thanks. I don't want to get involved with her."
He remembered now—the woman he'd glimpsed during Yazuki's video call yesterday must have been Koizumi. The enemy of my enemy might be my ally, but that didn't mean he wanted her anywhere near him.
After she left, Natsu lay on the bed staring at the ceiling. Arina's evasiveness, Kimura's pristine reputation—all of it swirled together like jagged puzzle pieces refusing to fit.
Outside, the evening sun sank low, bleeding red across the horizon.
Arina appeared at the ward door, a bento box in hand and a smile playing on her lips. With her free hand, she rapped lightly on the doorframe.
"Natsu, are you cosplaying a tragic poet again today?"
He blinked out of his daze and sat up. "Sister Arina, you're off work?"
"Mm-hm. No new patients this afternoon," she said, placing the bento on his bedside cabinet. Pressing her palms together, she prayed theatrically. "So I'm hoping everyone stays healthy so I can leave work on time every day."
"But if no one ever gets sick, you'll be out of a job," Natsu teased.
"Ahh!" Arina clutched her chest in mock agony. "Don't give me devil's choice questions like that, Natsu! You're cruel."
"It's fine—I'll always take care of you, Sister Arina."
Their eyes met. Her exaggerated pout softened, and for a fleeting second, her pale cheeks glowed pink in the sunset. Then, with a brisk laugh, she tousled his hair. "Cheeky brat. Eat your dinner already."
"Alright, alright." Natsu opened the bento. As always, her cooking was flawless. Yet even after eating, he felt strangely unsatisfied.
"Sister Arina…" He put down his chopsticks and looked at her seriously. "Do you truly like me—the way a woman likes a man?"
Her smile froze for a heartbeat before she recovered smoothly. "Of course. We're dating, aren't we?"
"Kimura Hama."
The name slipped from his lips almost unconsciously. He hadn't wanted to bring it up, but lying in this hospital bed, time wasn't on his side.
If he didn't face it now, their relationship would stagnate—slowly suffocating him.
At the sound of that name, Arina's smile faltered, her expression clouding.
Seeing her change, panic seized Natsu. "I-I'm sorry, Sister Arina. I didn't mean it like that. I don't doubt you, I just—"
Before he could finish, her hand lifted. He flinched, bracing for the slap. He deserved it. Investigating her childhood sweetheart behind her back—what could be more insulting?
But the slap never came.
Instead, her hand slid behind his head and pulled him forward.
Something soft pressed against his lips.
His eyes flew open. Arina's face was inches from his own, their noses brushing.
His mind went blank as her lips parted, and he felt her tongue slip roughly past his teeth, forcing them open.
Though her tongue was small, it was shockingly aggressive—pushing his own back with surprising strength.